Night Mare

The eyeless visionaries with dreams to disseminate 

When malice grips the heart it becomes a dark horse

Sight becomes marred as the dirt kicks up

Steam will exit the equine 

Short bursts of passion spurring forward

Until the marrow too runs dry 

When the sweet delight of high raised cheekbones

Turn to dust and whisper in the wind 

Lightly caressing the absence of a smile 

Tears fall on invisible fingertips 

Guiding them away to clear up the kaleidoscope

Fragmented and hurt 

Experiences and memories 

Clarity and hope fettered 

Praying for a key to the back of our minds

Bring us back to the stable

©️ The Sad Owl

Fantasize

Often with a pair of headphones on, I will sit in this room listening to oft-melancholic music. Strange for someone that has been referred to as having accomplished so much and revered for both my so-called patience and calmness. I’m not sure whether my time spent gathering knowledge has been an endeavor well sought or if I have simply only created leeway in which others may possibly benefit from my insights, none of my time is ever saved in this process [by the way]. This is probably pretty confusing so far and I apologize insincerely for that. Most things I find beautiful are misconstrued and for that reason I ask that you wait a moment and allow the nature of this structure to simply settle.

Right. Here’s the thing, I don’t even know you but I can already say that I don’t love you anymore. Don’t be hurt though, when was it that I loved you anyways, right?

Wrong. I think you know when. From the very beginning I heard you take a breath, inhale and then exhale very quietly and I was wondering if you were at peace. With a breath that shallow could I ever love you? I wondered. Strangely, when I asked if you were at peace the breadth of your lungs seemed to expand with new depth and dimension, that’s when I saw all the room left. Such an immense capacity you have and that’s when I thought you could surely hold me there too. It was then, I’m sure of it. You were with me from the very beginning, almost startling.

So why don’t I love you anymore? That’s a good question. See it’s just a feeling. Like the hair at the very beginning of its follicle, the root of the problem. It’s that stiff-end that you brush through and even if you shave it all off it will still grow just a little, wax and shine it if you must but really, it will always come back just a little even if you tried all the aforementioned. Yes, I think that is a good way to analogize it, it will always be there. Words can be elongated into elegant sentences, humorous and catchy, you can grow them out but somehow never erase them completely and that is the very crux of this automaton relation that we are forming. I don’t want to always just be there. I wanted something… a little longer, you know? Maybe you don’t. Dreams are often fleeting and when I dreamt of your heart I could see your face. Now I’m the shallow one, a second so fulfilling is a long time after all.

I know, maybe you love me too. It’s hard to say what love is exactly. Sometimes I think it’s just when my heart beats a little faster or I start to feel a bit anxious. Sometimes I tap my foot rapidly but don’t tell anybody. In case you don’t drink coffee, that’s what it feels like when you have really good coffee. If you’re ever in town would you care for a cup? This time I’m being sincere. I don’t love you anymore so it’s just not like that and I think that makes for really good conversation. I already know that I am going to love speaking with you because words can be hurtful and bring tears to my eyes, so even if you choose to say those kinds of things, they’re just words. At least empty words, they don’t mean anything because I’m still lying and anything of an untrue nature simply doesn’t exist. That’s probably why I say maybe so often because it may be that. Dreams are just that aren’t they?

What did I mean by that? Well… that’s a not-so good kind of question about being fanciful and misleading. I’m going to be very serious now. You are — hard. Anatomically you are simply a wondrous design, to be alive and perhaps not so well, difficult at times and it’s really you that puts the meaning behind every word you say. When I dreamt of you, we were just talking casually but each second longer was additive to just how profound the same things you repeated became until I could really hear your voice. The expressions stopped being mismatched with the vocals proceeding and when I could see you, that was beautiful. The color in your face reflected the laughter, disapproval and suffocation of such words from me to you. I couldn’t help but smile and think, isn’t this wonderful? You and I, having this conversation about whether or not we loved each other and yet we don’t even know one another. So tell me, could it be that love exists or it just words and make-believe?

© The Sad Owl